I thought it was time I wrote some more in my blog. I haven’t really been motivated to do it, nor have I actually remembered that I have one. My focus on things tends to shift rather radically. I’m not one of these people who can wake up and skip of to work straight away; I need time to get going. I like some tea, some fresh rolls and quiet contemplation – usually while occupying the other half of my brain with either puzzles or some form of game.
However, I am amongst those who can focus too much on something. When was the last time you spent 15 hours straight simply reading a book? It happens to me once a month or so, three years ago it happened on a weekly basis. I tend to over focus. Imagine, if you will, working the entire year’s worth of your job, condensed into 4-6 months. That’s me. When I’m working, I am working and when I’m not, I’m just not. I can’t take the dreariness of going to work every single day of the week, but I’ll happily spend three weeks doing nothing but home-works and then just not touching it for two months. So no, I’m not the ideal worker. I’m not really the ideal anything.
My slave, as she likes to be referred to, would probably say that i am ideal to her. To me, that’s fine, I don’t exactly believe it – but it’s more than enough that I make her happy.
That might be a strange sentiment coming from a so called “Master”. I wouldn’t know, nor do I particularly care. The D/s relationship I am in, well I don’t like saying that it’s a D/s anything. It’s my life; it’s my choice of life. I don’t like labelling my life as being anything. I like simply being where I am. I enjoy how I live and that’s all that matters to me.
My D/s life style wasn’t really my idea from the start, but it’s not out of character for me either, all things considered. I had what many might consider a fairly good upbringing, I wasn’t poor, I wasn’t pampered, I wasn’t abused but I also wasn’t very happy. I was bullied in school, a fact that has taken me a great many years to get over and I still don’t consider myself past it yet. My parents were upper middle class, and still are – though now divorced, and they both worked. My father worked in industry as a foreman, my mother was a social agent, neither one had much time over for me; and I’m the youngest of six. My closest sister by age is still eleven years older than me. So as a teenager I was very much an only child. My father, the bastard, is a drunk and quite a mean spirited man and exceedingly childish. My mother is not much better as far as emotional understanding goes. Her idea of Love was to give me candy instead of hugs, and scold me if I dared to ask if I could help out around the house.
My sexual progression in life was quite rocky. It started quite early around 7 years of age. I can’t remember exactly since it’s too long ago now. I and the neighbouring girls, two sisters, one a year older than myself and the other two years younger, played “house” and they were very interested, the older one more so, about the difference between girls and boys. I and the older sister ended up trying, but failing miserably, to have something that might have resembled sex while the youngest stood in the corned and was forbidden to watch.
The reason I remember this so clearly, stems from what happened about a week later. I was over at their house, trying to see if they wanted to hang out. The older sister had school worries and didn’t have time. The younger wanted me to stay over anyway, but I usually didn’t like playing with her because I thought she was quite the little baby, and I had a crush on her sister. She eventually talked me into it and cajoled and needled me into the idea of trying the whole “sex-thing” with her as well.
I didn’t like the idea very much, last time had been a flop and I had no interest in her. But I shrugged as boys are keen to do and thought why not, but changed my mind and started to pull my pants up when the door burst open. The girls very angry father had apparently been informed of what we where up to by the older sister and had naturally come running. The shock and his anger naturally made me cry and walk shamefully back to my house to hide in my room.
Were my parents informed and was I scolded thoroughly or sat down and talked to? As to the first, I have no idea because no one ever said a word of it – that I can remember – about it to me. I never saw the girls after that, I was ashamed and they didn’t come over anymore after that, nor was it a good idea that we play anymore – apparently. That incident scared me, quite badly. I opened my mouth to my mother about it, shakily, at the age of 23. That’s how long I needed to not blame myself. For the longest time I was firm in the belief that I had raped them, it seemed to only thing to explain what had happened. Or at least I thought that They thought that of me.
As time wore on, I became more and more unsure of my memories of the event. If I was actually remembering correctly and I became frightened that perhaps I had done the unthinkable. Perhaps I had hurt them. I didn’t know.
I was emotionally afraid of girls after that, I thought quite badly of them for the longest time. I didn’t get along with any other boy my age, my class mates all seemed strange to me. I didn’t really get on with anyone.
My love life from there is rather straight forward, I didn’t exactly have one. I was involved with my best friend’s sister for a bit and we referred off and on to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. But we weren’t really. It was a coming together of convenience more than anything.
The following years were barren of girls in my life. I was mostly alone, talked mostly with myself because no one else would. I mumble my words and speak quite softly as a reaction to that still today. Habits are hard to break it seems. It was just me and my right hand. Not until in my 18th year of life did I get romantically involved with anyone again. And for the first time I had an actual girlfriend. I was with Ia for more than three years. She actually lived with me in my room at my parents house. It was a stormy relationship with ups, downs and oddities.
I have never been what you might refer to as a regular individual. I have always been the odd one out, the kid on the side who dresses funny. I have a thing for trench coats and honest dialog. I explored my mind a lot during the time i was alone and it was hard to stop when Ia entered my life. I was very unfocused at this point in my life, working on life’s mysteries and what my beliefs meant rather than school work.
I came across the Seth Material during this time, and read every book from Seth i could get my hands on. It wasn’t an eye opening experience, nor was it surprise at what it talked about. It was rather like getting the collected material on what I had been thinking about. My reaction to Seth was: “Buddy! Finally someone who agrees with me!” I was happy for spur moments, I thought about what Seth spoke about, I tried all of the exercises – many of which I had “invented” years earlier. My dreams were my play ground and spent much of my time stuck in a parallel existence of waking and dreaming.
I pondered my own sexuality quite a lot at this point, and I made friends with gays, lesbians, transsexuals and asexual. I explored my own wants and desires intimately; I thought for the longest time that perhaps I was gay. I wanted to be gay, I wanted to fit in. I wanted my strangeness and understanding to have a reason. While at the same time I spent an extraordinary amount just working out how I could have sex with my girlfriend, the ups the downs, the ins the outs and everything imaginable between the stars. Ia had a very interesting fantasy life when it came to sex, she was to put it bluntly a nymphomaniac.
As a younger boy I always found myself on the lower end of the spectrum. I remember quite clearly having sex-education and the School Nurse lined all the boys up, by height on one side of the room and the girls on the other and then started to lecture us. Being the shortest in class, this was not the most comfortable location for me to stand in as you might understand. I especially wanted to slap the nurse when she looked quite pointedly at me and said that sexual progression tends to start later in those that are shorter than those of “average” height. Thanks, bitch. The next moment she turned to the tallest in the class and, creepily stated that the taller were known to “mature” in this area far sooner. She almost seemed to hint at the girls that it was fine to fuck the taller lad’s brains out. The woman was sick.
I found it preposterous that the shyest boy in class was somehow going have some kind of modelling stud carer or some such. I actually snickered when she talked about it, which might be why she stared at me, who cares, because I found it ridiculous that I would somehow be Later in achieving my sexual conduct than the taller boys, especially as three days prior to this little lecture I and my best friend had been invited up for coffee to some very older, but very hot women. Granted we were shit scared and it’s not like I think the girls were actually serious. I still found the Nurses little “facts of life” speech utterly false.
Yet, as with everything there are always parts that remain with you. I did feel less confident than I already was around the other guys because of this. I tended to be like that from my point of view I seemed obviously smaller than the rest.
It wasn’t until far later in life, as late as the time I was with Ia, that I discovered that I really didn’t know my own body all that well after all. She professed that I was indeed very large, she had heard stories and asked around quite a bit about the size of guys before she lost her virginity to me, and wondered about if it was nicer t have bigger. According to her “factual findings” *scoff* I was indeed far above the bar. She even insisted on measuring me.
I discovered, due to Ia’s fascination with cock, that though a guy may indeed be quite small when in a “resting´” state, when he is fully aroused he may well grow exponentially to the point of being over a decimetre in difference - whilst other men seemed not to grow at all but merely “stand to salute”, as it where.
I even had brief discussion about this with the short list of male friends I had and it’s seemed true. They asked my measurements and were quite surprised by them it seems. At the time, as you can surely tell I found sexuality and sex itself, to be a fascinating topic. I was ever more interested in how a woman dealt with her own sexual issues. I spent many hours, prodding and examining Ia, which she just thought was “sooo nice..” and asking her questions about how she did it herself, asked her to show me, wondered how she tightened up, why and at what time.
I learned quickly a system for telling signals about female bodies and if they were in “heat” or not. The neck, the eyes, certain movements, the way her fingers curl around a glass when she holds it, the way the iris swells up. Small hints too numerous to mention that all lead to the conclusion that I had a “feel” for not just when a woman was aroused, but how specific women wanted to be touched, when, where.. Sometimes this system almost bordered on the paranormal and I could even say what a woman’s highest fantasies were. And I routinely “performed” this little system of mine as a parlour trick at parties and get together, to the girls blushing approval.
I became quite obsessed with learning the skills to pleasure a female in any way or form I could. Luckily for me, it wasn’t particularly hard to get the girls in my little circle of friends to talk sex. It was their favourite topic. I learned more about emotional and physical anatomy of the female during those sessions than some women might know. I stored all the collected data into my system, ever expanding it.
My own progression with Ia only heightened this.
The majority of my friends at the time were women. I had perhaps three male friends and well over twenty female friends. The tide at that time had turned I was again more comfortable talking with girls than guys. Guys tended to discuss the hotness of chicks, parties and sport. I hate sport. I can’t stand parties and a woman is only attractive to me after I’ve gotten to know her. So you can see the problem. The guys didn’t get me and I certainly didn’t understand them. The girls however allowed me into their private sphere, while other guys were tossed from the room, they would come get me – so we could have “girl-talk”. I was the only non-girl at these talks, but I did learn a lot of things from the experience I will say that. I was an honorary female, you might say. Even to the point that I was the willing victim of having a team of girls parade underwear for me, wondering what looked the best on them – sans bra’s and everything. Some even changed knickers while holding onto me for support so not to fall.
During this time I broke with Ia, we went our separate ways. A lot of things had gone bad between us; she had cheated on me with my best friend, and committed what might be considered emotional rape upon me. I had lied and manipulated her a bit and we were not very good for one another. I was not in a good place, is what I’m saying.
I started hanging out with my lesbian friends a whole lot more at that point and going to gay bars with them. I think I’m one of the few guys that has been hit on by lesbians more than five times in a single night. But considering my honorary status it might not be hard to figure out why.
Things mellowed as they are want to do. I became involved with another girl less than three months after my break up with Ia. Bad idea, I know and I paid for it. Jana was far worse for me than Ia had ever been, we argued constantly. It was a bit like dealing with my father in a female form. She argued just for the sake of it, wanted affection only when I was busy and only listened when it suited her fancy, she was also a pathological liar and seemed surprised when I didn’t believe a word of it. Your father is the king of Sweden through illegitimate ways you say? Truly? Every single boyfriend you have had has beaten and raped you, though when you meet one, you hug him like an old friend? I’ll buy that? I’m still surprised it lasted as long as it did.
By now I was living in my own apartment and free of Jana, I went back to my lesbian buddies. My sexuality had undergone quite the change at this point, I had realised with sadness that I was not gay, but I was also – not straight. I became aware of the shift in my perception of women, a woman was now only interesting to me if she liked so lick pussy, if she was into women. I was sexually and mentally tuned into lesbians – a fact I found both intriguing and horrifying. I felt more and more as though I was invading their space, being sacrilegious towards their gayness.
I was confused and hurt by my own wants. I had long held a strange idea of the perfect home, me in a large estate house, a dog and my two wives. Perhaps the attraction to lesbians is part of it, perhaps not. I respect the gay community immensely, and I didn’t want to taint their world. So I tried to locate bisexual women instead, which strange as it sounds is a lot more difficult. I was also becoming more aware of my need for more than one partner, the desire was increasing.
I started to avoid my friends, and I think to a degree they did the same in turn. My life was literally falling apart around me. I was becoming depressed, my memories were haunting me like never before and I gained weight. I avoided clubs and anywhere I knew people hung out. I wanted to disappear.
I explored the internet quite a bit and downloaded more than my fair share of lesbian porn, I still felt wrong about it but at the same time I needed it. I turned more to Hentai than to real porn, the stories were better and more involved. It also felt safer, I wasn’t so much looking at two girls as I was appreciating art physically. Or so I told myself in order to quiet my guilty conscience.
I met a nice girl online she was 25, three years older than myself. She was a mother; I had no problems with that at all. Alexandra was, well a slice of heaven to put it mildly. The sex was spectacular; the girl knows how to ride. I had never felt as good about sex as I did with Alex, nor as good as I did about me. Alex accepted me for me, something no one had ever done before. I still miss her from time to time. I ended the relationship, quite badly and quite unlike me. It was too soon I knew it was too much. I was in no position to raise a plant much less a child. It wasn’t right. I let Alexandra walk away. I am partly proud of it and proudly regretting it, but I didn’t want to come between mother and child – no way. I still feel it was the right call, just not the right way.
I pushed my energies towards happiness again and I tried my best to keep afloat. I started working out. Taking vitamin supplements and eating healthy instead of pizza. I lost weight, I started to feel better and I centred on a goal.
That’s when I met Sanna.
No comments:
Post a Comment